


In Shallows and in Miseries

by Briarwolf (Tru)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Implied Pairing, Other, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tru/pseuds/Briarwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in Azkaban, Severus finds a way to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Shallows and in Miseries

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a "porn battle" hosted on Livejournal, though I no longer remember which round. The prompt was Snape; copper.

Azkaban is somehow more frightening without the Dementors. It is too empty, but not too quiet--the shackles around his wrists pull at the chains when he moves and the heavy rattle echoes off the cell walls. The dangerous ones get the addition of irons. He supposes he should be flattered.

He isn't thinking about that now, though. Not when the shadows are gathering darker in the corners; when half-closed eyes blur them into familiar shapes. He has to concentrate to see the colors, the paler tone of skin under cover of night and the faint, almost invisible touch of green in the eyes.

His hands are cold, the same sucking chill as the memories he can no longer remove from his head and pack away in a Pensieve. He hisses as his fingers wrap around his erection, watching that defiant mouth curl at the corners in a sneer. He can hear the voice still, but now it whispers vicious, dirty words; profanity that never would have come from the pristine, perfect lips of a boy hero. Nor would those lips be inclined to the other uses he imagines for them, no matter how sweetly their slick reddened curve would slide down the length of his desperate cock.

Rasping breath shivers, not quite loud when drowned by the sounds of the shifting chains. He can see an arched, thin back; his hands spread across shoulder blades that push against his touch, fragile as bird's wings, as the body moves. His fingers are warm now, twisting strokes made easier as he smears the first drops of leaking come down the length of his shaft. It is nothing like the cloying heat of sinking balls deep into the boy's arse, and when he moans the sound is distorted in the small, dank space; taking on the tenor of another voice.

He lifts one arm, bites the base of his palm, fierce, the metal of his restraint hitting hard against his chin. A muffled grunt, and to him it is another cock sliding in the easy curve of his palm, and a different body tensing and writhing under the impending heady pleasure of orgasm. His breath quickens, shakes; the boy on his back now, biting swollen lips to hold back curses and pleas that, when they escape, are taut under beseeching eyes that steal his breath as easily as Avada Kedavra.

The rattling of the chains grows louder, and he wraps one around his free hand, pulling hard against the limit it imposes on his reach. His hips thrust, and his hand tightens in pulsing, quick squeezes. A breathless gasp, and something snaps; in his mind's eye he watches semen draw streaks of thick, sticky white over the boy's chest; splashed across one stiff nipple, a spray hitting the corner of a lusciously bruised mouth. For a moment, he can imagine the way it would taste to lap up that liquid, then to push his tongue between those cherry-flushed lips. That is enough to drive him under the crashing wave of pleasure, and the sound he makes is caught somewhere between a howl and a sob, muffled by the chain-wrapped palm pressed to his mouth.

The taste that lingers, emphatic on the back of his tongue as he comes, is not the flavor of the cold iron that holds him captive--more familiar, it is the hot, thick copper of blood; Potter's, Dumbledore's and sometimes, when he's bitten his lips raw to keep from screaming, his own.


End file.
